


Spoils of War

by Chocolatpen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal hybrids, Blood and Injury, Breeding Kink, Cuckolding, Guilt, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Bites, Panic Attacks, Porn With Plot, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, War, Wings, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26120320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: When he and Bokuto are shot out of the sky, Akaashi expects to be killed for his feathers. He doesn’t expect to wake up separated from his mate, a slave collar fastened around his neck.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Daishou Suguru, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 39
Kudos: 161





	1. Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!!
> 
> I have no excuses. This work is totally gratuitous and also incredibly filthy. I also sprinkled in a touch of tragedy in there. I do love some Bokuaka angst and hurt/comfort, although I think I did go a little too hard while writing out the plan for this. I feel like I still need practice for my smut scenes, but my best friend says I just need to get laid lmao
> 
> Warnings to take note of: **non-con, mind control, slavery, blood, and injury.** Please make sure to read the tags. This is going to be fucked up, so if you're not okay with that please DO NOT continue reading!!!! I totally understand if you can't get into this, even if you're a long-time reader! This story is similar to _Green Eyes_ in the sheer amount of sex/manipulation I'm planning for it. Also, there will be a little teensy bit of torture. Consider yourselves warned.
> 
> As this is an animal hybrid/magic AU, the characters will have animal characteristics (such as nesting and cold-bloodedness) and animal features (such as wings, cat ears, and scales). Chapter updates will be every 4-7 days. My activity is updated on my profile, and you can contact me on Tumblr :) I don't have a beta reader, but I do try to edit my work as best as I can.
> 
> I'm sorry for making Daishou the antagonist, but I really do love all the snake imagery TT.TT I'm already going to hell, but please know that this is _fiction._ It's not real. Rape and sexual assault/harassment are horrible, and I do not condone it at all in real life.
> 
> With that said, I hope those of you who decide to read this enjoy it!! And if you do, please leave some kudos/comments to feed this hungry author <3

The last thing Akaashi remembers is falling.

So it makes sense that he flinches awake; wings instinctively spreading wide to slow his descent. Speckled brown feathers rain down around Akaashi as his wings clang painfully against metal, the limbs cramping almost immediately from disuse.

It worries Akaashi because he flies _everywhere_. Picking berries, building his nest, even hunting for food – there’s not a day that goes by that Akaashi doesn’t use his wings. Now, however, Akaashi doesn’t even know how long he’s been unconscious. He doesn’t even know where he is, or more importantly where Bokuto is.

The worry spikes into panic.

_Koutarou_. Akaashi thinks, eyes widening. _Where is Koutarou?_

Akaashi had been flying with his mate when he heard that whistling sound, had pushed Bokuto out of the way of what he thought was an arrow. Instead, Akaashi only felt what seemed like an ant bite before the darkness pressed in from the corners of his vision and he’d begun to nosedive into the canopy of trees below.

Akaashi folds his wings behind his back, mouth set in a grim line as he surveys his surroundings. The world around him is dark and empty. It smells vaguely stale, and the only light in the room is the torch mounted on the wall. There’s a thick metal door next to it, but Akaashi isn’t going anywhere near it.

The room might already be impossible to escape from, but then Akaashi is also trapped inside four walls made of thin metal spires. They dig into his bare feet and cut into his palms when Akaashi moves to curl his hands around them.

It’s a cage, and it’s barely big enough for Akaashi even though he’s already curled into a ball.

Akaashi’s eyes blink over to the big metal door a second before it actually creaks open. Even disorientated and weak, Akaashi’s heightened senses don’t betray him.

Two men step into the room. The first has hair the colour of leaves, slanted eyes, and a sly smile. The second, taller one, has sleepy eyes and spiked hair a few shades lighter than Akaashi’s wings. Both of them have scales lining their temples and the exposed skin of their arms.

Snakes. Akaashi’s hackles rise defensively. It makes sense. Other than the odd poacher, the winged folk of Fukurodani don’t have much to fear. That’s changed recently, with their entry into a war between Nekoma and Nohebi that has been brewing for decades.

“Akaashi Keiji,” The first snake greets, sauntering up to the cage. His fangs elongate, resting on his lower lip as he rakes his eyes over Akaashi’s face, down his body, and finally the mess of feathers littering the ground. He clicks his tongue. “What a waste. Those feathers alone could probably last a small human family a whole solstice, you know.”

Akaashi’s wings flutter a little at the connotations of the man’s words, drawing around his shoulders like a shield. He swallows, licking at his dry lips. “Who are you?”

“I’m Daishou Suguru, leader of Nohebi,” The green-haired man says, curiously polite. He gestures to the taller man, who has approached too and is fiddling with the padlock on Akaashi’s cage. “And this is Kuguri Naoyasu, my right hand.”

One of the cage walls swings open, then, and Akaashi presses himself into the furthest corner. Daishou peers into the small space, the amicable expression on his face unfailing even as he stretches a hand into the cage.

Akaashi ignores Daishou, his wings now folded almost entirely around his body. “Where’s Koutarou?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Daishou says, pulling away from the cage and walking a few steps away. “We’ll bring you to him in a moment.”

There’s something shining in Daishou’s other hand, the hand he’s kept behind his back this whole time, but Akaashi is distracted by the way Kuguri comes to stand in Daishou’s place.

Kuguri lashes out before Akaashi can react, not that he has anywhere to go. The snake’s hand clamps around the delicate middle joint of Akaashi’s wing, his grip unrelenting as he drags Akaashi out of the cage and throws him to the ground. In a move that’s more battle sense than clear thought, Akaashi beats his wings in the air. The resulting burst of wind knocks Kuguri backwards, and he crashes into the wall with a painful-sounding thump.

Akaashi is about to turn to deal with the other one, but he’s stopped by a pricking sensation on the back of his neck, and then the cold sensation of something metallic wrapped around his neck. A collar? Akaashi flares out his wings, throwing Daishou away from his vulnerable back – but not before the smell of blood invades his nostrils.

The new weight of the collar, and the resounding click as it closes around Akaashi’s neck, is quickly accompanied by pain.

Akaashi doesn’t know what it is, or where it’s coming from. His entire body is suddenly on fire, agony ripping through his muscles and bones, and Akaashi has hardly any awareness to realize how badly he’s spasming on the floor.

When the pain finally filters off into a dull throb, Akaashi rests his head on the dusty floor and sucks in deep breaths. His sight is blurry with tears, and he can hardly feel the rest of his body. A pang of fear shoots through him at that thought. _What was that?_

“That’s what you get for hurting your new owner, Keiji,” Daishou says, his voice a sweet purr as he crouches down by Akaashi. Akaashi bristles. Only Bokuto ever calls him by his given name, and that’s because they’re mates; because Akaashi has already chosen to live the rest of his life by Bokuto’s side.

A life that might end up shorter than either of them predicted.

“I’m not an object. I don’t belong to anyone,” Akaashi replies in a rasp. He flinches back from the fingers running through his feathers. Few people have had the privilege of touching Akaashi’s wings, of grooming him. It's too intimate an activity to share with his captor, and Akaashi hates it. He hates Daishou.

Daishou doesn’t reply. Instead, he stands and goes to open the heavy metal door. Akaashi would have swooped right out of there, but the aftershocks of pain are still traveling through his trembling body. When the door is fully open, Daishou smiles from the threshold and gestures towards Akaashi. “Come on, Keiji, let’s go.”

Akaashi wants to retort again, because the way Daishou says his name makes him very uncomfortable, but to his surprise, his legs defy him entirely. Akaashi doesn’t even have the time to be surprised about it, before he’s out the door and following after Daishou like a lost puppy. Kuguri stalks by them, shooting Akaashi glances filled with equal parts distrust and dislike.

“What did you do to me?” Akaashi questions, and to his horror his voice wobbles. He’s scared and confused, lost in what is probably his enemies’ den, and still unaware of Bokuto’s condition. But Daishou just ignores Akaashi in favor of placing that same, irritatingly neutral smile on his lips.

Akaashi is still trying to figure out why his legs won’t stop moving, why even his wings have pressed themselves into his back, when they pass through a tall set of wooden doors and he’s blinding temporarily by the bright sunlight.

Owls are usually nocturnal animals, so Akaashi’s eyes shy away from the sun rays that spill in through a large, dome-shaped window. It’s gilded with tinted glass and wrought iron, which casts the room in green and yellow tones. There’s a high-backed chair sitting right in front of the window, and it looks almost like a throne with how it's positioned atop a short flight of steps.

That’s all Akaashi takes in about the room, because it’s only a second later that his eyes meet familiar bright golden irises.

Bokuto has been forced to his knees on the warm stone ground, his large salt-and-pepper feathered wings tied firmly against his back with thick ropes. There are another pair of snakes flanking him with their spears drawn and pointed warily at Bokuto’s back.

But Akaashi’s heart is pounding like a hummingbird in his chest, his palms beginning to sweat because this is an entirely unprecedented situation.

Usually, the winged folk of Fukurodani are valued for their feathers. Imbued with magic, they are both durable and soft, and are thus coveted by the humans for their armor and clothing. They’re also good luck charms and ingredients for potions, so winged folk are most often slaughtered in the rare occasion that they are caught.

It’s incredibly hard to catch a member of Fukurodani, too, since their nests are grouped in tightly guarded sanctuaries. Arrows are usually too slow and make too much noise, as well, so it’s a wonder that Daishou had been able to catch not one but two of them – and a mated pair at that.

Which means to say that someone as conniving as the leader of Nohebi has a specific plan in mind for them.

“Keiji?” Bokuto’s eyes grow wide when he spots Akaashi, his eyes roving over the younger man’s skin in an attempt to catalog any injuries.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi coos, eyeing the blood splattered on his mate’s face. It is pure instinct that drives him to step towards Bokuto.

“Sit down,” Daishou orders, right then, and Akaashi feels the world around him shift as his legs give out beneath him; feathers sweeping against the floor. There it is again – the feeling of his body betraying his thoughts, of it doing exactly what is asked of him by that snake.

It makes Akaashi want to vomit.

Akaashi’s face must have given away how utterly horrified he is, because Bokuto’s shocked gaze narrows into a chilling glare. He points it at Daishou. “What did you do to Keiji? If you hurt him, I’m gonna-”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re in any place to threaten me right now, Bokuto-san,” Daishou laughs. It’s a fake, twisted sound. He ruffles Akaashi’s black hair, nails raking against his scalp, before reaching even further down to tap lightly on the metal cuff that has melded itself around Akaashi’s neck. “I’m sure you two don’t know what this is, since you’re nest-building savages. It’s a slave collar.”

_Slave_. The word doesn’t ring a bell, because whatever it is must not exist in Fukurodani, but it still gets Akaashi’s stomach bubbling in apprehension.

“That means,” Daishou continues, and now his grin shifts into something nasty. He fists Akaashi’s hair tightly, pulling till Akaashi’s throat, and his mating mark, is bared to the world. “That Keiji belongs to _me_ now.”

Bokuto snarls. It’s a feral sound, guttural in the way it seems ripped right out of his throat. His feathers puff up in anger, thick arms fighting against the ropes that are already leaving red imprints on his skin. Bokuto’s guards back up a step in fear, but Akaashi just wants to go to his mate’s side.

Only Akaashi _can’t_ , because his legs won’t listen to him.

“You don’t seem to understand,” Daishou sighs, shaking his head in mock disappointment. He slips a dagger into his hand, and then tosses it towards Akaashi. “Let’s demonstrate, shall we? Keiji, stab yourself.”

“What?” Akaashi is so shocked by the command that his mind blanks for a second – a precious second that his body spends catching the weapon in mid-air. And then the reality of the situation sinks in, and Akaashi’s hands are shaking, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, as he holds the dagger in position in front of his stomach.

“Stop. Please,” Akaashi gasps, almost hollow with disbelief. There’s no fighting it against Daishou’s words. Akaashi tries, but the metal around his neck warms and he loses even more control over his own body. He’s going to die pathetically, right in front of Bokuto. “Stop it, stop it!”

Daishou remains silent, and Akaashi’s forearms tense. And then he plunges the knife towards his own torso.

“No!” Bokuto cries, desperately, the same time Daishou says, “Stop.”

Akaashi’s hands still abruptly, knife poised an inch away from his soft belly. There’s a moment of palpable relief, before Akaashi exhales loudly and loosens his grip. The dagger clatters noisily onto the floor.

“So you see, I can kill him any time I want to. I can do anything I want to him, and I can make him do anything I want him to do,” Daishou explains. He sounds almost amused at the stricken look painting Bokuto’s features. “I’ll give you two choices. You can cooperate with me; in which case you will fight for me, for Nohebi, and both you and Keiji will stay alive. You can refuse, of course, in which case I will gladly kill you for your feathers and then give pretty Keiji here to my subordinates to… use.”

Akaashi fists his hands in the fabric of his tunic, the one Bokuto made for him, and refuses to look his mate in the eye. He feels like a failure, because he hadn’t even been able to control his own body. Because he knows he can’t, not if Daishou orders him.

Akaashi is not nearly as powerful as Bokuto is, but how is it possible that he can’t even defy a mere collar?

“Fine,” Bokuto snaps, still holding his head up high, and Akaashi realizes that this is exactly what Daishou wants. Mating between the winged folk is considered a sacred bond, and Bokuto will do anything if it’s Akaashi’s safety on the line. Daishou must know this. Akaashi is sure that he’s planning on making full use of it, too.

“Good.” Pleased, Daishou’s fangs come to rest on his bottom lip. He tilts his head towards Bokuto, which has Akaashi’s heart rate spiking again.

Akaashi stares, warily, as Kuguri steps forward with a smirk coloring his previously uninterested features. And then he kicks Bokuto in the face.

Akaashi’s wings flare out at his mate’s pained yelp, anger stirring in his gut as the desire to claw Kuguri’s entire face off warms his limbs.

“Be still,” Daishou says, and Akaashi’s body locks itself in place. Akaashi snarls at Daishou, but he’s ignored as Daishou hooks his fingers into the back of Akaashi’s tunic and drags him over till they’re just in front of the steps to the makeshift throne. “The two of you are still too defiant for my liking. Kuguri. What do we do to misbehaving kids?”

“Teach them a lesson,” Kuguri answers, in a low growl. He looms over Bokuto and jams his scabbard into Bokuto’s spine, pressing hard till the larger man’s cheek is flattened against the floor.

Bokuto struggles for a moment, till Akaashi is laid on the floor in his line of sight. Then he goes very still, almost as frozen as Akaashi is under the spell of that cursed collar.

Bokuto’s gaze snaps up to Daishou, who Akaashi can feel kneeling down by his prone form. It’s odd, because Daishou doesn’t give off heat like the other warm-blooded creatures Akaashi has been in close contact with. Instead, he seems to leech off of Akaashi’s warmth. “You-”

“I said the two of you would be kept alive, but I didn’t say anything about not having fun.” Daishou shrugs. He shuffles closer, sitting between Akaashi’s split legs and splaying his hands on Akaashi hips. At this point, Akaashi can hardly breathe.

Daishou smiles. “Make love to me, Keiji, like you would if I were your precious Bokuto-san.”


	2. Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow everyone really seems to be into this story!! I'm glad :D
> 
> Just a life update: I'm not unemployed any more, which is great because I've been really worried about COVID and the job market T.T I'll try my best to keep to my current update schedule regardless :) 
> 
> Anyway, enough about me!! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter <3

Bokuto is angry at first, as he watches Daishou crouch between Akaashi’s open legs.

His instincts are screaming at him to do something about it – screaming at him to get the intruder, the very dangerous stranger, as far away from his mate as possible because that is clearly a mounting position that Daishou has no business being in.

Akaashi is Bokuto’s. Daishou has no _right_.

But then Daishou commands Akaashi to make love to him – to show him the things that should only exist between Akaashi and Bokuto – and Bokuto’s throat closes up in horror.

Bokuto doesn’t understand what a slave collar is, but he knows that it’s controlling Akaashi. He knows that Akaashi isn’t able to fight back against it, because the alternative would break Bokuto’s heart into a million pieces.

So Bokuto watches, hopelessly, as Akaashi places a trembling hand on Daishou’s cheek. He watches as that snake smiles down at _his_ mate and presses in with a long kiss too gentle to be something taken forcefully.

When Daishou grinds his hips against Akaashi’s, his cock already tenting in his pants, Bokuto starts struggling again.

Kuguri strikes Bokuto across the back of his head, simultaneously increasing the pressure he’s putting on Bokuto’s back to keep him locked in place. Forced to the ground like this, Bokuto’s gaze is directed onto the sight of his mate being debauched just an arm’s length away. But Bokuto can’t close his eyes or look away, not even as Akaashi reaches to unbutton Daishou’s pants and pull out his erection for everyone in the room to see.

“You deserve to watch this, and you know it too, don’t you?” Kuguri hisses into Bokuto’s ear. Akaashi’s hand wraps around Daishou’s shaft, slowly moving up and down the length as Daishou leans back down to reattach his lips to Akaashi’s.

Bokuto is so preoccupied with the sight, and the anger burning him from the inside out, that he almost nods in reply.

Kuguri is right. Bokuto deserves to watch. He deserves to witness how Daishou now slips his tongue into Akaashi’s mouth and rips his pants off his slender legs. Bokuto deserves this, because under all the righteous anger and protective instincts is guilt.

It had been Bokuto, chattering on endlessly, who failed to realize that they were heading into a trap. It had been Bokuto who Akaashi took the sleep dart for, and it had been Bokuto who was too slow to scoop Akaashi out of the air.

Bokuto had only been able to watch Akaashi plummet into the trees below; the wind streaking past Bokuto’s face as he tucked in his wings and dove down after his mate. And then Bokuto had failed, yet again, to keep Akaashi safe against the snakes that laid in wait for them and crawled out of the undergrowth in numbers too great for even the strongest warrior in Fukurodani.

Most of all, Bokuto blames himself for getting Fukurodani involved in a war that isn’t even theirs.

At the time, Bokuto had only been concerned about helping his friend Kuroo. The combined strength of Fukurodani and Nekoma should have been able to crush Nohebi without much effort. Bokuto never thought things would end up like this. He would never have done it if he knew that it would hurt Akaashi this much.

It breaks Bokuto to think that this is what Akaashi gets, for all his dedication and love.

Akaashi has done nothing but support Bokuto and his decisions, even though all he really wanted was to start a family once they became officially mated. Having children – having their nest vibrant with young life – it’s something Bokuto wanted to put off till after the end of the war.

Now, Bokuto wishes he had just listened to Akaashi for once.

Maybe then they wouldn’t be in this horrible situation.

The snake has his fangs out now, leaving love bites and bloody punctures alike as he makes his way down Akaashi’s vulnerable neck. When Daishou runs out of space, he pushes the collar further up Akaashi’s neck and out of his way. The marks are dangerously close to where Bokuto left his mating mark, which coerces a low, warning growl from the great owl’s throat.

“Please stop,” Akaashi whispers, when Daishou hovers over the circle of blunt teeth marks in the juncture of his shoulder. Akaashi’s body and mind must be in disagreement, because he’s still embracing Daishou like a lover, spreading his legs apart like he actually wants it. Bokuto can’t help but feel a pang of doubt.

“Is that what you tell Bokuto when you’re with him?” Daishou laughs. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, running a finger down the length of Akaashi’s neck and letting it catch on the edge of the metal collar. Pausing, Daishou spares a glance at Bokuto. “You must be really bad in bed.”

Bokuto wants to retort, to say something spiteful or even anything at all, but Kuguri chooses that moment to stuff a wad of cloth into his mouth.

“Come on, Keiji,” Daishou grins, ignoring Bokuto’s muffled cries. “Get wet for me.”

Akaashi’s pupils dilate in response to the order, and Bokuto can smell the way Akaashi’s slick gushes out of him obediently. The heady smell fills the room and gets Bokuto semi-hard, even though he’s far from aroused by their circumstances.

“Good boy,” Daishou sighs, making a show of sniffing the air. He cups Akaashi’s thighs, lifting them up and hooking Akaashi’s ankles over his shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, for an owl. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Languidly, Daishou pulls Akaashi’s ass cheeks apart and makes a show of admiring him. Bokuto feels more of his feathers drop off from how hard he’s straining against his bindings, but he freezes in place when Daishou presses his red, leaking tip against Akaashi’s opening.

_No, no, no, nononononono-_

Daishou thrusts forward, burying himself balls deep in Akaashi. The latter whines at the sudden intrusion, thighs flexing as he crosses his ankles around Daishou’s neck. Akaashi’s cock is rigid, and it slaps against the smooth expanse of his stomach when Daishou starts earnestly pumping into him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Daishou groans, face flushing as he picks up the pace. Unlike Akaashi, whose eyes are shut tight against the world, Bokuto finds himself paralyzed; unable to move or even think. Daishou notices, because of course he does. He manages to look gloating even between his panting. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping all this to yourself, Bokuto-san.”

Still gagged, Bokuto just bares his teeth in reply.

Both Bokuto and Akaashi have had a multitude of previous sexual partners, and Bokuto has never been the possessive kind, but it’s entirely different when he’s watching his mate be violated without any way to stop it. Bokuto is hurt, and worried, and angry, but all of these feelings must still pale in comparison to what Akaashi is experiencing.

Daishou doesn’t seem very impressed by either of their reactions. He exhales sharply, leaning down without breaking his rhythm.

“Keiji, love, open your eyes,” Daishou croons, now chest-to-chest with Akaashi. Out of context, it could almost be sweet.

Akaashi obliges the order, wrapping his arms around Daishou when he realizes how close the snake is. It sends something bitter and stinging through Bokuto, even though he knows that Akaashi isn’t actually doing this because he wants to. Akaashi can’t help it, right?

Daishou huffs, slowing his thrusts to bunch Akaashi’s tunic up along his collarbones. “Now, look at your mate. And don’t look away until I tell you to.”

Akaashi’s head snaps towards Bokuto. Like this, it gives Bokuto a front-row seat to the tears running down Akaashi’s flushed face. Like this, Bokuto can clearly see the self-torment running through Akaashi’s mind– and that’s all Bokuto needs to see before cold shame is coursing through his veins.

How dare Bokuto question Akaashi, when it was his own mistakes that led them here? How dare he, when Akaashi is the one who’s suffering enough for the two of them?

Akaashi and Bokuto have been mates for years. The love and trust they have for each other is something Bokuto wouldn’t trade for the world, but this is the first time that all Bokuto can think about is how Akaashi messed up by choosing Bokuto out of the many winged folk that courted him.

So Bokuto does the only thing he can do. He stares back at Akaashi and makes sure to look him in the eyes as he repeats this mantra in his head. _It’s not your fault. It’s okay. I love you. I’m sorry._

With Bokuto and Akaashi looking at each other, Daishou is quick to come.

Bokuto doesn’t know if it’s the voyeurism or the sense of power that gets Daishou off. Bokuto doesn’t care. He just keeps focusing on sending over good thoughts to his mate, allowing the world to narrow to a pinpoint between the two of them. Akaashi doesn’t acknowledge Daishou either, save for a small wince as Daishou empties himself inside him.

But of course, Daishou isn’t satisfied with just that.

“Look at me, Keiji,” Daishou says, ripping Akaashi’s gaze away from Bokuto. Akaashi mewls loudly when the snake grips at his cock and begins pumping at it ruthlessly, slipping his thumb over the beading precum on its head. “Tell me you love me. Tell everyone here that you love Daishou Suguru.”

Bokuto’s hands are curled so tightly now that his nails are cutting into his own palms.

“I,” Akaashi starts, crying harder as he fights the order. He grits his teeth together, but the metal band around his neck glows a little brighter. “I love you, Suguru.”

Bokuto’s entire body deflates at the words. His wings pin themselves to his body like he’s trying to become as small as he can, ropes falling loosely against his skin, and he has to bite his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

In his mind, Bokuto knows very well that Akaashi isn’t saying any of this of his own accord. Regardless, it still aches with every breath he takes, like there’s a big bruise on his heart.

Bokuto is so deep in his own thoughts that he barely notices how Akaashi comes all over himself with Daishou’s hand still wrapped around him. He’s barely even present as they’re led through more hallways, down flights of stairs, and through even more, even darker corridors.

All Bokuto can see is the distressed look in Akaashi’s eyes, and all he can hear is the way his mate declared his love for someone else so openly. So _proudly_.

The animal in Bokuto wants to submit. Losing one’s mate like that is tantamount to admitting that one is inferior. Bokuto is too weak. Too inadequate. But the rest of Bokuto – the parts that are the amalgamation of magic, sprite and nature; the parts that make Bokuto, Bokuto – knows that Akaashi loves him for all that he’s worth.

Akashi would never betray Bokuto, but that still doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Finally, Bokuto is tossed into a cell. There’s a thin mattress laid on the dusty cobbled floor and a few wooden buckets in the corner. Kuguri steps in for just a moment to cut Bokuto free of his bonds, but Bokuto cares less about that and more about the way Daishou whispers into Akaashi’s ear, his hand resting around Bokuto’s mate’s waist.

There’s a scary moment when Bokuto realizes that he could be imprisoned here on his own, without Akaashi by his side, but his fears are assuaged when Akaashi steps into the cell before Kuguri swings the door shut.

“Think of this as a reward,” Daishou smirks, draping his fingers through the bars. His eyes flicker to Akaashi, down his bare legs, and then to Bokuto where he’s tugging the ropes off his body. “Kuguri will get you for your first little errand.”

And then the pair of snakes are gone, their footsteps fading away till even Bokuto’s sharp hearing can’t detect anything.

Bokuto hates that, even then, there is silence in the cell. Akaashi isn’t the most talkative person on the planet, so Bokuto has come to appreciate the comfortable quiet that comes with their relationship, but this is different. It’s wrong.

“Bokuto-san, are you okay?” Akaashi’s voice is a little hoarse, and just from that, Bokuto already knows how hard Akaashi is trying to keep himself together.

“Why are you calling me that again? It took me years to get you to call me by my first name,” Bokuto replies, cracking a small smile. Akaashi looks away, hugging his arms to his chest. The motion bares Akaashi’s neck to Bokuto, bringing attention to the collar sitting snugly against his skin. Bokuto’s smile fades. “Keiji, that collar-”

Bokuto cuts himself off when Akaashi flinches back, hunching even further in on himself.

“I’m sorry, Koutarou,” Akaashi murmurs. He eyes the space between them with a mix of apprehension and longing, then shuts his eyes. Bokuto waits, patiently, till Akaashi can look at him, and then the words come out uncontrollably, like the will of a waterfall.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what kinds of curses are worked into this collar. I can’t fight it at all, and I’m so, so, so sorry Koutarou,” Akaashi’s voice cracks halfway through, his eyes turning glassy as he takes a careful step towards his mate. Bokuto is frozen, the words ripping through his tattered heart like another slash of claws tearing through his flesh. There’s fear in Akaashi’s gaze now that Bokuto continues to remain silent. “I didn’t want it. You have to believe me. You’re my- you’re the _only_ one I-”

Bokuto’s chest heaves in a quiet sob as he pulls Akaashi fully into his embrace. His wings flare out before curling in around the both of them, encasing them in warmth.

There, in their little cocoon, Akaashi allows himself to break down into tears.

“Please don’t hate me, Kou,” Akaashi begs, shaking in Bokuto’s arms. His face is wet with tears, and the moisture seeps into the fabric of Bokuto’s tunic. Even his wings are trembling. “Please, please, please.”

“I would never,” Bokuto says fiercely, hoping that Akaashi can sense his resolution, his certainty. He presses Akaashi closer with one arm and reaches out to smooth Akaashi’s feathers with the other.

Bokuto’s mate has always loved grooming. It doesn’t matter when on where, be it post bloody battle or even a tousle with a hedgehog. Akaashi likes making sure that all of Bokuto’s magnificent feathers are in the right places. His own are usually too well-groomed for Bokuto to make a difference, but now they’re sticking up in odd places and slicked in different directions.

Just the thought of why that is rekindles the flame of anger burning in Bokuto’s gut.

“But I, I let him touch me,” Akaashi whimpers, curling into himself. His naked legs knock together, his tunic brushing against his thighs. Akaashi looks up at Bokuto, muted blue eyes frantic. “He came inside me, what if I-?”

“You didn’t let him do anything, Keiji. None of this is your fault,” Bokuto corrects, firmly. He stops righting Akaashi’s feathers to cradle Akaashi’s head in his hands, being sure to look him in the eye before pushing in for a quick, chaste kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Koutarou,” Akaashi replies, now close to burrowing his head into Bokuto’s chest. His hands, too cold to be normal, reach up to trace the mating mark on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto fondly rubs his thumb over the matching one marring Akaashi’s tanned skin.

Akaashi has always taken such good care of him, Bokuto sometimes forgets that Akaashi is more than a solstice younger. Bokuto had been a mischievous fledgeling when Akaashi hatched from his egg, so he’d watched Akaashi grow up from adorable owlet to graceful adult.

It’s something that Bokuto shouldn’t have forgotten, but one thought he does want to bury is the fact that Akaashi is in the prime of his life now, that he’s as fertile as he will ever be.

And later, as Bokuto cleans another man’s seed out of his mate, he pretends he doesn’t know what that might mean for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A solstice is about half a year, between the summer and winter solstices/the hottest and coldest days of the year.


	3. Shatter Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad for the interest in this story!! :) In my head, Akaashi and Bokuto are just so beautiful and magnificent with their wings TT.TT
> 
> Also, please _always_ be wary of the tags and the warnings. We are not done with the non-con in this story yet. Consider yourselves warned!!
> 
> Enjoy <3

Akaashi wakes up wrapped up in an organized cocoon of cloth, cotton and straw. It’s warm and comforting, like the familiar feeling of wings wrapped protectively around him, and he would have preferred to stay burrowed inside if not for one glaring issue – Bokuto is gone.

It’s the only reason why he can’t feel the tickle of Bokuto’s feathers against his skin, the only reason why their cell feels devoid of the type of warmth only Bokuto can provide.

Akaashi stretches his wings before drawing them close around his shoulders. The movement upsets the makeshift nest, launching bits of fluff into the stale air. Bokuto must have pulled everything out of the mattress and torn up the covers to make this for him. It’s a poor recreation of their home in the hollow of a big oak tree, but it’s not from lack of trying.

“What a mess.” Akaashi startles at the voice, twisting his head to see Daishou melt out of the shadows. The snake slithers up to stand by the bars of the cell, gaze unimpressed. “I shouldn’t have expected better of savages.”

Akaashi bristles at the insult.

The winged folk dislike being underground as much as they like soaring in the sky. Akaashi is used to being perched high up on the branches of trees, swooping down to the ground only when he spots a delicious morsel. Being cooped up in an underground cell makes Akaashi’s skin itch and his mind run restless, yet Bokuto has done all he can to ensure Akaashi’s comfort with this nest.

Bokuto doesn’t deserve Daishou’s criticism.

Daishou’s eyes linger on the way the short tunic pools in Akaashi’s lap, before he unceremoniously tosses a piece of fabric into the cell. “Change into this. You’re coming with me.”

Akaashi snatches the folded cloth out of midair. It feels light in his hands, the material thin and scratchy against his palms. It makes sense why, when Akaashi holds it out in front of him to get a better idea of what it looks like.

The tunic – and it is still a tunic, even though it’s more see-through mesh than actual, hardy cloth – is green and lined with spun gold. Nohebi colours. It looks fragile, like it might be unwoven by a gentle brush against a tree branch. The only consolation is that it’s longer than what Akaashi has on now, meant to be worn as a dress instead of a shirt.

Akaashi defies the call of the collar for a moment more to shoot a glance back at Daishou. He’s still standing by the cell, eyes unashamedly locked on Akaashi’s figure. Disgusting.

In a bid to preserve a semblance of decency, Akaashi sits on his knees and turns away from his captor. Daishou has seen all of him already, has known all of it intimately, but at least now Akaashi has the freedom to deny him _something_.

Akaashi doesn’t harbour any hope that Daishou will refrain from touching him, especially now that Bokuto is gone, but he will take all he can get, while he can still get it.

Soft, metallic clinking noises fill the room as Daishou unlocks the cell door and holds it open. He looks all the part the perfect gentleman, which makes Akaashi scoff inwardly as he steps through the threshold. Even if he was once shocked at Daishou’s courtesy, Akaashi now knows better. Any hope otherwise had been dashed completely after what he made Akaashi do – how he made Akaashi hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt.

Once in the hallway proper, Akaashi spreads his wings to their full length.

Lose feathers float lazily onto the floor, satisfaction running through Akaashi’s beleaguered body when his hollow bones and tight muscles finally get to feel a thorough stretch. Akaashi’s wingspan is not as impressive as Bokuto’s, and neither is his colouring, but the tips of his wings still brush against the high ceiling before he folds them against his back.

“Beautiful,” Daishou breathes, coming up behind Akaashi. He ignores the way Akaashi flinches away from him, his fingers curling tightly around Akaashi’s arms and spreading his chill beneath the heated skin. “Do you know what you look like now?”

The collar heats up around Akaashi’s neck. It’s satiated only when Akaashi shakes his head.

Fukurodani is not like Nohebi, or even Nekoma. While the snakes value currency and material wealth, and the cats the connections between the different species, the owls usually keep to themselves and their sister sanctuaries, like Karasuno to the East.

At the start, the elders had strongly discouraged Bokuto’s friendship with Kuroo. But Bokuto has never been one for conventionality, and Kuroo has always been as charming as he is cunning. Somehow, the obnoxious duo has left Akaashi in awe that they managed to keep their friendship secret long enough for Bokuto to succeed the previous leader, as well as pleasantly surprised at how quickly they’d endeared themselves to Akaashi. Even if Kuroo is a pain, sometimes.

Fukurodani is extremely insular, or at least it has been till Bokuto’s generation, so everything Akaashi owns is something he’s made or caught or picked. Kuroo mentioned something about a reflective surface once, a new invention made for human royalty, but that’s not something any member of Fukurodani would hold an interest towards.

Sure, Akaashi knows what he looks like from descriptions by other winged folk. He’s even seen glimpses of himself in the calm stillness of ponds before Bokuto and Kuroo distort the image with their splashing and roughhousing, but Akaashi has yet to see anything clearer than that.

Until now, that is.

“This is a mirror,” Daishou says, pushing Akaashi in front of a long, oval panel that is propped up against the wall. It’s framed by sculpted vines and engraved with multi-coloured jewels, but Akaashi’s sharp gaze is quickly drawn away from the shiny objects to what is, without better description, himself.

The image is far from perfect. It’s tinted brown and crooked where the small shards of reflective material are joined together to make up the long oval panel, likely welded together by a blacksmith. But it’s enough for Akaashi to see a dark-haired boy staring back at him, his eyes a murky blue.

Akaashi trails a hand over the sharp cheekbones, the tanned skin, even the collar at his neck. His wings flare out behind him, the action an unconscious reaction to his intrigue. It gives Akaashi a good look at the brown-speckled feathers that make up his most prized assets.

But then Akaashi’s eyes drop downwards, and he doesn’t need a mirror to feel the way the heat rushes up to pool in his cheeks.

Akaashi’s new tunic doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. It falls like silk, hugging Akaashi’s hips sinfully, and Akaashi can clearly see the darkness of his own nipples through the mesh. They’re peaked from chafing against the scratchy fabric, but that’s still nothing compared to the obvious outline of Akaashi’s cock and the accompanying tuft of dark hair.

“This is-” Akaashi swallows, embarrassed at himself. His entire body feels hot, even though Daishou’s cold, scaly hand has come to rest around the back of his neck. He’s never worn anything this revealing before, because this is entirely impractical for the life he led in his sanctuary, the life he had with Bokuto. “It’s too little, I- is there missing fabric, or _pants_ -?”

Daishou’s fingers wind into Akaashi’s curls, gripping tightly in a simple warning to silence himself.

“Be grateful that I’ve given you anything to wear at all,” Daishou whispers, his breath a puff of air against Akaashi’s ear, before dragging him out of the small treasure trove and into the throne room. Akaashi recognizes it from the day before, and unease comes to sit snugly at the bottom of his stomach as he’s thrown onto the floor by the high-backed chair.

“Now, you’re going to behave,” Daishou says. Akaashi sits silently, his entire body tensed up as Daishou lifts the chain connected to the back of the throne. He brings the end of it to Akaashi’s collar, and there is only a moment of heat before Daishou has fused the two together. “Be quiet, and maybe I’ll reward you when all this is over.”

Akaashi is confused and wary, but he nods anyway and grips the edge of his tunic in his hands.

As with most of his kind, Akaashi has always been logical. He knows there’s no point fighting against Daishou when the collar makes his efforts futile, and he knows that it’s better to have his captor in a good mood than a bad one.

But then the doors to the throne room burst open and a trio of human men enter.

It’s a good thing that Daishou’s order is so strong. It keeps Akaashi’s wings from flaring up in a well-ingrained fight or flight response, because flying away as fast and as far as possible is exactly what Akaashi wants to do.

Humans are an abomination. They must be one of the creator’s biggest mistakes, because they are entirely isolated from their natural roots. They’re greedy, conniving and selfish – a blend of bad traits with no redeeming qualities to speak of.

Akaashi used to chew out Kuroo for his ties to humans, if only for trading purposes. Bokuto had been intrigued, as he is with most anything despite the harm that could befall him. Whatever Daishou wants from them must be worse than anything Akaashi can think of.

“Daishou-san is that-?” the first man wonders out loud, eyes glued onto Akaashi. The other two are looking at him too, reminiscent of how a predator looks at something it wants to devour.

Akaashi shivers. He’s a bird of prey. He’s not used to being looked at like food.

“Yes, a fine specimen, isn’t he?” Daishou sounds smug as he lounges back on his seat. He reaches down to tug at Akaashi’s wing, stretching it out to its full length. The three men follow the movement religiously. “He… and his mate have recently fallen into my hands.”

“Not one, but two! And a mated pair!” Another one of the men exclaims, sharing a look with one of his friends. When he turns back, the lines on his face have deepened, curiosity dulling into something serious and severe. “I assume you’ve not called us here to sell, now that you have enough to start your own farm. What do you want?”

Akaashi starts to tremble at the mention of a farm. He’s heard the rumours of humans who lie in wait to trap the winged folk, not kill them for their magical feathers. They’re scary rumours and sometimes threatening bedtime stories of how Akaashi’s brothers and sister are fed terrible potions; forced to breed and then made to watch helplessly as their offspring are butchered.

“I will progress slowly with only one pair,” Daishou says, letting go of Akaashi’s wing. Akaashi presses it close against his back, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt to hide from the gluttonous, lecherous eyes. “If we have more– say, a whole colony? We’ll have enough to line our pockets for life.”

Once disjointed, like the reflection in Daishou’s mirror, the pieces start falling into place in Akaashi’s mind. His entire body goes rigid at what Daishou is suggesting, and he can’t help but jerk his head around to stare at the wry snake.

“I’m listening.” The third man, their leader apparent, takes a half-step forward. Akaashi flinches back involuntarily, gaze wide and wild as he whips back around to regard the three humans.

Daishou sighs theatrically, reaching down to grab the short hair at the back of Akaashi’s neck. His fingers wind tightly around the strands, tugging so hard that Akaashi’s head snaps backwards. “ _Be still_.”

The order is searing, burning its way into Akaashi’s skin even as Daishou starts leading the humans away with promises of further pleasantries. Even then, with his limbs locked in place and his gaze forcefully glued to the ground, Akaashi knows what the humans’ answer will be.

Akaashi can feel the panic rising in his mind, but the collar does its job in regulating his body. His lungs don’t struggle to fill, and his breaths don’t shorten into quick bursts of not-enough-air. In fact, Akaashi might not even realize that he’s having a panic attack if not for the way his inner consciousness crawls up against the corners of his mind and bangs repeatedly against his skull.

Akaashi really hates the collar. It dulls his senses, strips him of his magic, and robs him of even the most basic of bodily functions. It’s like he’s transferred all control of his body over to Daishou.

When the door creaks open again, Akaashi expects Daishou to waltz back into the room with an irritatingly smug smirk dancing across his features.

Akaashi doesn’t expect an unfamiliar scent, or the light footfalls of an experienced hunter. His instincts scream at him to take flight, or even to hide, but the collar heats up again and stifles the uneasy ruffle travelling through his feathers.

“What, are you sleeping?”

Akaashi twitches when calloused fingers wrap around his chin, digging into his cheeks as his head is yanked up from its position tilted downwards towards the floor.

It’s one of the humans. The first one to talk, with dark hair and a grizzly beard to match. This close, Akaashi can even smell the faint whiff of blood off his clothes and the axe strapped to his back.

The man hums under his breath as he grabs at Akaashi’s wings, tugging them this way and that as though he were inspecting merchandise. The fine hair on Akaashi’s arms rises, his stomach toiling in disgust. Before, only his mother and Bokuto have ever had the privilege of combing their fingers through Akaashi’s feathers. The thought of Daishou’s hands, and now even this human’s bloodstained ones, running through Akaashi’s feathers makes him want to expel the measly contents of his stomach.

Akaashi can tell that this man wants some sort of reaction out of him, from the thoughtless way that he’s handling Akaashi. He must have some sort of experience with winged folk, because he knows just where all Akaashi’s weak joints are, and he makes sure to press his fingers into every single one.

_Be quiet._

Daishou’s order closes up Akaashi’s throat, even as he wants to scream or whimper or anything that is not simply staying silent.

_Behave._

The collar is heating up more and more with the man’s ministrations, his hands now sliding from Akaashi’s wings to the soft flesh between his legs. His touch leaves a trail of gooseflesh on Akaashi’s tanned skin, thick fingers kneading into the flesh of Akaashi’s thighs as he pushes them apart.

_Be still._

Akaashi’s breath catches. His hands are shaking, fingers white where they bite into each other with the effort to stay motionless. The collar is burning.

The man pushes Akaashi’s tunic over the bend of his knees, exposing Akaashi to a gaze that is twisted into something manic and base. The look on the man’s face is everything Akaashi hates about humans condensed onto one expression, and it’s too much.

Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking down the sides of his face as an unwelcome heat traces around his fluttering opening. Akaashi hates this. He hates this situation, and all he yearns for is to spread his wings, knock the human to the ground and curl his hands around his neck till it snaps under his strength.

Akaashi wishes for Bokuto. He wishes for his mate to crash through the tall, glazed windows and rescue him from this strange, dangerous human who is surrounding Akaashi with his overbearing heat.

But Bokuto isn’t here.

Daishou is.

And it is Daishou who opens the doors with a graceful arch to his eyebrows.

It is Daishou who rips the human off of Akaashi, Daishou who removes him from the room and stares down at a violently trembling Akaashi.

It’s Daishou who, ultimately, wraps his arms around Akaashi when his orders pass through deaf ears.

Daishou’s scaly skin is a cold relief after the stifling heat of the human, and Akaashi finds himself appreciating it for just a moment before he springs away like he’s been burned.


End file.
